Vergleiche
by Skysky
Summary: Two-part self-reflection from Weiß's youngest assassin during the most festive time of year. [wip?]
1. Absonderung

**Disclaimer:** Weiß Kreuz and all associated and registered trademarks are copyright Project Weiß and associated firms. Typical disclaimer.   
  
**Warning:** This fic might seem a bit dark to some people, so I merely wish to warn you of such. It is written from Omi's POV. That's about it. Reviews are _greatly_ appreciated.   
  
**Vergleiche - Absonderung**   
  
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They are laughing in the other room. Smiling and speaking with each other, trading jokes and stories, little anecdotes about life. That room is warm, pleasant, yet I do not feel welcome in there. Only here do I feel welcome, the cold tiles of the kitchen floor chilling my bared feet, the silent and still air, enfolding about me like dark shadows. Here is where I belong, not there. There is where the happiness is, the joy, the pleasantries. Here is the isolation, the home for those without a home. There is where they are, and here is where I am. We are all where the world has meant us to be.   
  
The counter is covered in half empty bags of pretzels, chips, and treats, all purchased and laid out for their Christmas party. It is supposed to be our Christmas party, but I cannot be there with them, I do not fit in. I am different from them, I do not belong. They each have family and friends, I have nothing. Well, not nothing, perhaps. No, I have a family that hated and abandoned me, and an uncle who trained me to murder them in return. That is what I have, and it feels too empty. Cold. Alone.   
  
Muffled laughter reaches my ears as the eldest recounts some cute story from his childhood, talking of a kitten he got for Christmas and how he nearly killed the poor thing in shaking the gift box in puzzlement as to what was inside. Childhood. Another bitter and cold stab of pain strikes me at that thought, a reminder as to why I am not in there with them. I do not have a childhood, they do. Do they not realize how lucky they are to have one? To recall those things? I am envious of them. They have memories, I do not. All I remember is pain and killing, being given orders and following them through. Nothing more than that.   
  
My slender fingers curl about the knife I had been using to slice a tomato. I had come here under the pretense of making a sandwich, but perhaps I had come for more than just the spilling of the red fluid of the tomato. Perhaps I had come for mine. And at that moment, I feel sad enough, alone enough, that I do not really care. They have family, I do not. They have memories, I do not. They have happiness, I have pain. Too much pain.   
  
I lay my left hand on the cutting board, facing the palm up and spreading my fingers out, observing them. Faintly, I wonder if it would hurt more to stab myself than to endure the emotional pain of not fitting in with them. Probably not. Little more could hurt more than what I feel when they speak of their love and happiness.   
  
The point of the knife rests gently on my palm now, the tip dragging up the softest hint of crimson. The pain is so faint that I can barely feel or acknowledge it, merely wanting more than what is being given. Tightening my grip, I wince as more sounds of happiness reach my ears. They do not even miss me in there, still laughing in the bright room while I stand in the dark kitchen. Laughing while I cry, my tears staining the floor, never to be seen or noticed by any other.   
  
Pressing down lightly now, digging the blade into the skin, watching the dark fluid that wells up, clinging to the blade as though it were sole sustenance, the only way to survive. Perhaps that is how it is. Blood clings to the blade that draws it, this much I know. Just as blood clings to my hands, staining them further with each kill, drawing me further from their happiness and deeper into my own despair.   
  
Just a little more pressure and I will cut straight through my hand. Would that not feel so good. A distraction from the mental hurt, a focus to the physical. Just a little more pressure, which I slowly begin to apply, until the light suddenly flips on, startling me into dropping the blade, letting it clatter to the cutting board.   
  
"Omittchi? You gonna be long in here? You're missing the party."   
  
Only Youji, come to check on me. Why? Sighing, I manage to bring a bright smile to face, the kind of genki thing they would all expect from me. "Ah, gomen, Youji-kun, I'll be just a moment." My words sound hollow and I know he can sense that, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observes me.   
  
"Do you need some help, bishounen? I could give you a hand. Not like the party's doing much in your absence. KenKen is a little too drunk to make proper conversation and Aya is being... himself."   
  
He grinned at me and stepped in the kitchen. What is he doing? Did he see my injury? Pressing my hand against a cloth, I shake my head, still trying to smile. "No, it's fine, Youji-kun," I hear myself say. "I will finish this later, I'm not quite so hungry anymore. Let's get back, ne?"   
  
The blond nodded to me before he left, still seeming concerned. Why? I am just Omi, nothing more. Pay no attention to me, please. That is what seems to happen normally, and almost what I ask for as I leave the kitchen, pausing to turn off the light. My sapphire eyes rest on the discarded knife, the blood clinging to the blade and shining softly. It appears that, for now, I cannot test my theory. For now I must just live with the pain of the heart, not the body.   
  
Just for now...   
  
  
**Author Notes:**   
  
This part's title, Absonderung, means 'isolation' in German. 


	2. Nichts

**Disclaimer:** Weiß Kreuz and all associated and registered trademarks are copyright Project Weiß and associated firms. Typical disclaimer.   
  
**Warning:** This fic might seem a bit dark to some people, so I merely wish to warn you of such. It is written from Omi's POV. That's about it. Reviews are _greatly_ appreciated.   
  
**Vergleiche - Nichts**   
  
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Now has come and gone.   
  
I find myself more hollow than ever, the emptiness deepening as each day passes, bringing the festive twenty-fifth closer and closer. The others think that I, above all, would anticipate this holiday, with all the gifts and childish glee that fills the air, but, in truth, I despise it. Christmas is a time when family gets together to bond. My family never bonded, it was impossible to them. All they were capable of was abandoning one another, starting with the youngest son, me.   
  
Sometimes I can hold some bitter happiness in being unable to remember the time with my family. Perhaps if I could, this holiday would hurt even more. Knowing that I had something that so many enjoy at this time of year, and was so stupid as to have been exiled from it, would hurt twice as much if I could recall what it was like. As it stands, the pain is already enough of consume what little joy I strive to present during the December month, threatening my precious facade with the reality of my mentality.   
  
Not that the others notice. No, they never do, going about their plans and carols as freely as ever. Even Aya seems to have cheered up, not so much the bitter icicle as the slowly warming snowman in the sun. Never once does the youngest of the killers get a second glance, not even when he declines the chance to put the star on the tree or hang the last candy-cane on the decoration-bare branch. They simply nod when I say I'm not feeling well, or that one of them should do it this year, instead of me. Not one of them pauses to inquire if that's the entire truth.   
  
Of course, I never expect them to. How could I? Past experience has taught me that even the most flimsy of lies can fool those three completely. I remember being on the verge of a complete breakdown when Hirofumi was alive, to the point where I would scream for no reason... Did they ever press for what was wrong? Never once. No, each of them shrugged and accepted the false statement that I was just fine.   
  
Tonight, again, they've bought that falsehood. They've started another little party, Youji insisting on making the most of the festive season to get Ken as drunk as possible. Downstairs I can hear them, their sounds, even Aya's cold statements that Youji shouldn't mix alcohol A with B, filtering up through the bathroom's floor, where I am currently on my knees. I would be standing, to be further from the happiness I have no right to take part in, but the strength to stand has left me, as all else has. The only thing remaining is a shadow of my former self, a shell that looks like Omi, but is not. All else is hollow, nothingness replacing the genki youth that they once knew.   
  
Anything would be better than this empty feeling, the sense that I'll never belong, and that I'm supposed to be this isolated. Pain would be better... That's why I hold the blade of a razor in my hand, stolen from the cabinet to be examined. The slender blade glitters faintly in the light, beckoning to me as the knife in the kitchen had. It wants to taste blood, I can sense it...   
  
With a slightly shaking hand, weakness and desolation leaving me without the firm precision I have always been known for, I life the blade, pressing it against the tender skin on the inside of my left wrist. The fingers of that hand tighten, pressing down on the white bandage wrapped there to cover the injury I gave myself not more than a few days ago, when I had intended to make a sandwich, but ended to delving through so much more.   
  
At first, as with the time before, I can feel barely anything. Ruby liquid, though, trickles slowly around the edge of the blade, showing that skin is being parted before its sharp touch. With a bit more pressure, the pain begins to well with the fluid, dripping into the expanse of my body and slowly filling it with the anguished touch of hurt. As I thought, it feels better to have that pain inside me than the nothingness of before.   
  
Again I press down, the blade cutting with ease through the layers of skin, the rising blood nothing to sway its motion. The blade doesn't care if I'm bleeding, all it cares is to complete the task it was meant to. It has to cut things, and I'll allow it - as I am right now.   
  
For once, I find the pain reassuring, instead of something to despise. The feeling, at least, exists, instead of being the lie that is my smile. It gives me a sense of existence, where I had none coming. On the whole, the bitter bite of my own decision is fulfilling, giving something to where there was nothing.   
  
Ready to lift the blade to begin anew the shredding of my wrist, I find my grasp fumbling at a sudden interruption. Someone is knocking firmly on the door, startling me into dropped the blade, my eyes watching it fall to the ground, into the small pooling of cardinal liquid that had formed.   
  
"Oi, Omi, you gonna hog the bathroom all night?"   
  
Ken's voice is clear through the door, and impatient. I suppose he has to use the bathroom badly, why else would he be up here, in the darkness and hollow halls of the abandoned? He has no reason to intrude on this isolated domain, so why else would he be present.   
  
Composing myself, I pick up the blade and toss it into the garbage, reaching with my uninjured hand for the burgundy towel that is mine. With haste, I mop up the blood, managing to wipe the worst of it away before I stand, pressing the towel against my wrist and hiding it behind the door as I tentatively unlock it, peering out.   
  
"Gomen," I say, meeting the dark eyes of the soccer player. "I'll be out in a minute, can you wait that long?"   
  
For a moment, Ken looks lost. Finally, he blinks and shakes his head, giving me an odd look. It seems like a cross between bemusement and concern, if the latter were even applicable. "Naw, I don't need it, kiddo," he replies with a shrug. "Aya's just being a bastard and saying we can't start in on the cake until you're down there."   
  
Aya's saying what? I blink, confused. He must be taunting Ken, or Youji, or both. There stands no other reason why he would concoct such a crazy idea, since concern was clearly out of the question. Regardless of the reasons, Aya had chosen the worst moment, taking me again from my quest to fill the emptiness and find some sanctuary from the darkness of my life.   
  
Sighing, I shake my head and try to smile, the attempt weak and short-lived. "I'll be just a moment..." That's all I needed, just a moment more to gain the freedom from the nothingness inside. Why did he have to listen to Aya? Why did he have to interupt what I want to be?   
  
Grinning, Ken nods and leans against the far wall. "I'll wait then," he announces. "Can't have you sneaking out and ruining the cake feast for all of us."   
  
With an unstable attempt to keep the faint smile in place, I nod and close the door again, leaning back against it as my legs again show their weakness in standing. It seems that, again, my theory cannot be proved. I must wait and try later, to see if filling myself with pain will do anything to erase this cloud that haunts my life.   
  
Until then, again I must try the facade and wait, until the inevitable occurs and I'm left alone again. Then, perhaps, I'll finish my experiments, and see what becomes of my life.   
  
Darkness, if nothing else...   
  
  
**Author Notes:**   
  
Never have I considered continuing this story, but tonight I had a sudden urge to. This piece comes out of my darkest moods, so I'm not sure if or when the next update will occur. Or even if this update makes sense. Actually, I'm curious: Does this second part make sense combined with the first?   
  
This part's title, Nichts, means 'emptiness' in German. 


End file.
